


Goals

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 13:29:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17366744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: Bucky is supposed to make a list of goals (no more than three) each day. Meeting Clint Barton was not on the list, but he'll take it.





	Goals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arsenic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/gifts).



Having a dissociative episode in an alley was not on Bucky’s therapy-required goal list for the day. He managed anyway.

The cold, damp air is the first thing Bucky notices, even before he registers the unfamiliar voice saying, “You’re James Buchanan Barnes and you’re in a shitty alley behind a shitty restaurant in this shitty fucking city, come on, man. James Barnes. Take a deep breath, and smell the garbage. James –“ and the man keeps rambling as Bucky loosens his grip on guy’s arm and backs a little from where he’s got him pinned against the shitty alley wall. He takes a deep breath as commanded and is almost overwhelmed with the pungent smell of rotting Italian food. He blinks.

The guy he’s got shoved against the wall nods and, for some goddamned reason, grins. “There you are. God, your eyes are beautiful. You back with me?”

Bucky steps back some more and drops his arms to his sides. He pulls in a shaky breath and swallows. He looks around the alley and they’re alone, and his breathing is ragged and his legs start to feel a little like warm Jell-O.

“Hey, hey,” the guy says, and the maniac steps into Bucky’s space and guides him to the ground before his legs crumple. The guy is strong, and he steps back right away, like he knows he’s probably too close. He’s not very tall, but he’s got a tough face, a warm smile and green eyes that Bucky gets lost in for a second before he sucks in a sharp breath and nods.

“I’m okay. I’m okay, thanks.”  His throat feels a little like sandpaper, so he swallows hard.

The guy cocks his head a fraction and quirks his lips in an uncertain stare. “Yeah? Seems like you could still use a hand.”

“Who are you? How did you know my name?” This is a reasonable question since Bucky knows, like, four people in this city.

The guy’s smile fades and now he just looks sheepish. “Well, I’m Clint Barton. You were leaning against the wall here having a rough time breathing, so I tried to help. Might’ve slipped your wallet out of your back pocket to check your name.”

Bucky tries to stand. His legs still don’t want to work, so he settles back down.

“Hey,” Clint says, “Wait here.” He disappears around the corner of the alley.

Bucky puts his head in his hands and takes deep breaths. He needs his legs working. He’s tired, so tired, like he always is after an episode, and a wave of grief washes over him, too. He thought he was done with this shit happening in public for no goddamned reason.

Clint’s back, crouching down next to him with an unopened bottle of water. He’s wearing deep purple fingerless gloves and he hands the bottle over, but he doesn’t open it.

Bucky’s grateful for that, and he takes it with a nod and cracks it open, gulps down half in one go, and blows out a breath when he’s done. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. You feeling better?”

Bucky nods. “You knew what to do,” he says, looking at Clint a little more carefully.

Clint rocks back on his heels and runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he sighs. “I had a friend who used to get dissociative sometimes. She taught me what to do to help, and I know that if it happens on the street it sucks especially hard.”

The kindness is unexpected, and the note of sadness and empathy in Clint’s voice is like warm water sluicing down Bucky’s whole body after a cold walk home. Bucky can’t help but smile and nod. “Yeah. It does. Thanks for helping.” He takes another drink, and nods again. “Okay. I think I’m okay now.”

Clint stands and offers him a hand up. This time Bucky’s legs work and he rolls his shoulders and looks down the street.

“You have far to walk?” Clint asks.

“No. I’m only a couple blocks from here.” He’s still real tired, though, and the distance from here to his apartment actually feels like it’s going to be miles long.

It must show on his face, because Clint frowns and says, “I know you’re probably okay, but sometimes our brains are real idiots and things go south fast after something like this. Can I just walk you home? I’d feel better if I knew you were safe.”

It’s unusual for Bucky these days, but, “Company sounds good.”

Clint bounces on his toes a bit, grabs a ratty olive green backpack that was leaning against the alley wall, and they head out. Bucky spaces out a little, and Clint says something funny when that happens and Bucky can’t help but laugh and focus on his steps again until they reach the steps of his building.  

“This is you, huh?” Clint says, looking up at the old, run down place Bucky calls home. “Cool building.”

“Old and drafty, but it’s got some character,” Bucky says, and then, “Thanks for walking me home.”

Clint bites his lower lip, like he wants to say something, but he seems to change his mind and just gives Bucky a thumbs-up. “Glad you’re safe. See you around, James.”

Bucky nods and starts up the steps, but he doesn’t get far.

“Hey,” Clint calls, and Bucky turns around. Clint’s holding up Bucky’s wallet. “You might need this,” he says with a mischievous smile.

The weather turns wintry over the next two weeks, and Bucky has to work back to going outside without Steve or Sam or Nat’s company, but he finally manages a trip to the corner market and another to a therapy appointment alone. He thinks of Clint every time he passes the alley where a stranger took time to help a stranger through a scary moment. Bucky keeps an eye out and kind of hopes to see him again, but he doesn’t, although that doesn’t keep him from thinking about Clint’s kind eyes and gentle hands.

Bucky has his hands shoved deep in his pockets and is hurrying past the alley as snow drops softly onto his pea coat, but a hard cough and a flash of olive green catch his attention and he stops so quickly he slides a little on the slick concrete. He steps closer to the dumpster half way down the alley, and swallows thickly when he realizes who he’s looking at.

“Clint?” he says, and moves closer. Clint has wedged himself between the dumpster and the alley wall, and Bucky can tell that it’s good shelter from the punishing wind that has accompanied the freezing temperatures today.

Clint looks up sharply and Bucky can’t help but take a step back. Clint’s pale and has dark shadows under his eyes, and he’s wrapped in an old wool blanket as well as his coat. He’s shaking and when he sees Bucky he closes his eyes for a moment and drops his head to his knees, which are pulled up close to his chest. “Go home, James,” he says in a gravelly voice.

“My name’s actually Bucky,” he replies, but Clint doesn’t look up.

“Go home, Bucky,” he mumbles into his knees, and tries to pull the blanket closer. “I’m okay.”

Bucky crouches down in front of him to get a better look. ‘Like hell you are,” he says, and Clint looks up at that.

His eyes are dark, greener today than Bucky remembers, and he starts to take a deep breath, but it turns into a wet cough from deep in his chest. It takes a minute for him to get it under control, and he drops his head back to his knees when it’s over.

“Clint,” Bucky says, softer this time. He doesn’t want to spook him. “Come back to my place and warm up, okay?”

“You don’t owe me ‘nything,” Clint mumbles into his knees.

“I know,” Bucky says, and he reaches for Clint’s backpack. “I’ll bring your stuff and you can come get warm and have a meal with me. You hungry?”

Clint answers with another coughing fit, and then looks blearily at Bucky and nods.

Bucky stands up and reaches down to help Clint up this time. “Okay, come on. I’ll make tea,” he says as he pulls Clint to his feet.

Clint doesn’t say anything as they head back to Bucky’s place, and he stumbles on Bucky’s step, hard enough to go down in a heap. “Fuck,” he mumbles, and Bucky helps him up.

He holds him steady for a minute and says, “I got you.”  

“I’m sorry,” Clint says, clenching his arms tightly around himself, but he looks Bucky in the eyes and his are shining with unshed tears.

“Why are you sorry?”

“You don’t need my shit, James,”

Bucky’s heart breaks a little at the earnestness he hears. He ignores the wrong name and replies, “We’ll work it out.” He pulls Clint up the rest of the stairs and sets aside the thought that helping Clint back here to get warm has sparked something in his own chest that he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

He keeps a hand on Clint and when he shuts his apartment door, and guides him to the couch. It’s a huge couch, taking up way to much space, but Bucky told Steve that if his brain is going to keep him inside a ridiculous amount of time, he might as well be comfortable. He also liked offending Steve’s sense of design.

It’s a fluffy mint green sectional with forest green pillows, and Clint sinks into it with a groan.

“Do you like tea?” Bucky asks, as he takes his coat off and reaches into the nearby closet for an old, wool blanket he keeps close. It was his father’s army blanket and it’s worn smooth. He takes the soaking wet blanket Clint’s clutching and drapes his around Clint’s shoulders, who draws it close and honest-to-god huddles.  Bucky stands back and takes a better look.

Clint is pale, but his straw-colored hair and blue-green eyes are nothing but pretty, and his hands look strong and weathered. He’s overtaken by a cough, and the rattling wetness of it makes Bucky frown.

“Tea is good,” Clint says when the cough finally ends, and his voice is wrecked, not the easygoing tenor that Bucky remembered from a few weeks ago.

 Bucky heads to the small kitchen and goes through the ritual Natasha taught him, making a lemon-ginger tea that he cuts with a spoonful of honey and pours into a silly mug that Sam brought him that says, “Sanity’s Little Helper” with a dumb Christmas stocking on the side. He puts some thick-cut buttered toast on a plate as well and takes it into the living room.

Clint stifles another cough and takes the tea with a tired smile. “Thanks.”

Bucky nods and sits down on the other end of the couch and his own cup of tea. When he came to live with Steve after his military discharge, Natasha, also a veteran, showed him how to use the ritual of tea to calm down. Sam had shown him some breathing techniques, and Steve had just surrounded him with comfort and friendship. The combination of all three made his transition a bit easier.

“This is good,” Clint says after swallowing a mouthful of toast. “Is it homemade bread?”  

“It’s a hobby.”

“That’s a good hobby,” he says, and he starts to say something else but is interrupted by another coughing fit. He finally stops and closes his eyes for a moment before he finishes the toast and tea and looks around with a kind of longing. “Thanks for the help,” he says, and stands up.

“Clint,” Bucky says, and stands up, too. “You don’t have to leave.”

Clint drops his chin to his chest. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know that you’re in a rough spot. I know you’re sick. I know that you’re kind enough to help a guy and walk him home. I know you’re kind enough to thank me and try to leave, and I know you’re still cold, tired, and hungry. I know you should stay and shower and sleep and let me help you.” Bucky couldn’t keep the emotion out of his voice, and it came from a feeling deep in his chest that was somehow desperate. Fuck if he can explain it, but Clint leaving feels like losing his grip on a climbing rope, a slow inevitable free fall.

Clint raises his head and meets Bucky’s eyes with a sadness Bucky only knows from his own sleepless, self-hating nights since he got back from the desert. “You don’t know me,” he repeats, and he drops the blanket on the couch and picks his backpack up from the floor. “Thanks for letting me warm up, and for the food.”

He’s out the door before Bucky can decide what to do. It only takes him a minute to decide, though, and he bundles up again and heads back outside. He knows how to follow someone, especially someone who’s probably too miserable to pay as much attention as they should. He follows as Clint clearly tries to put as much distance as he can between him and Bucky’s place, but it’s not long before whatever energy the tea and bread gave him wears out and he slows down. When he coughs hard enough to stumble and crash into a heap on an old tenement building steps, Bucky sits down next to him.

“Fuck, James,” Clint mutters when he sees who’s sat down next to him. “Go the fuck home.”

“I have pretty violent nightmares,” Bucky says slowly. “I don’t have a job, I can’t eat most days but when I do I make my own food because it calms me down to do it, I got out of the Army eight months ago and still go to therapy twice a week because the shit they made me do in Iraq would make you sick, and I’m currently relying completely on the VA and my three best friends to keep me afloat.” He takes a shuddering breath and Clint raises his head to get a good look at him.

Bucky keeps staring out at the brightening street lights and parked cars in front of him. “If I can help you, though, I will. If that just means making sure you get to a shelter where you can sleep safe and warm, I’ll do that. If you’ll sleep on my couch until that cough goes away, I’ll get my friends to help you get back on your feet, too. They’re good at it.”

He hears Clint shift next to him. “I got out of the Army two months ago,” he says quietly, “But it was a dishonorable discharge thanks to a truly fucked up situation that I didn’t handle well at all, and I don’t have any skills other than being the best sniper the Army’s had until they didn’t have any use of the kind of person I am. I can’t get benefits and I don’t have many skills for a job. I got a GED just to get into the Army when I was eighteen. I don’t know if I can be helped.”

Bucky hears the desperation in Clint’s voice that he feels in his own chest every day, so he just nods and replies, “Maybe I can’t help you. I don’t know. Sounds like we both fall into the ‘fucked up’ category thanks to the ol’ US Army one way or another. But I’ll try to help, and so will my friends. And in the meantime you can crash on my couch and eat some more of my stress baking.”

Clint laughs and nods, and then he coughs, and Bucky hears the phlegm and the rattle and then it turns dry, like he’s coughed everything out and there’s nothing left, but he can’t stop coughing and when he finally stops he’s pale and trembling. He runs his hand down his face and says, “I’m really tired, James.”

Bucky looks at Clint and knows he’s kind. He knows he’s gentle. He knows he’s trying. Bucky knows a bit of what Clint’s been through without really knowing anything at all. Clint knows about dissociating, he knows about the military, he knows about struggle, and he still smiles and helps people because he can. That’s enough for Bucky. “Come home with me, he says, and when he stands up, Clint takes his hand and lets himself get pulled to his feet.

Bucky throws his shoulder under Clint’s arm and leads Clint back to his apartment. As he closes the door behind them, he says, “I’m going to give my friend Natasha a call. She can do a grocery and meds run for us, and she might have some ideas. She was in the military, too, and is really resourceful. If she can’t help, I’ve got a couple other ideas, okay?”

Clint stops and stares. “Natasha? Her last name doesn’t happen to be Romanov, does it? ‘Cause that would be really weird.”

Bucky looks at him and blinks. This is definitely weird. “Yes. Yes it is.”

Clint just laughs, and Bucky is distracted by the sound and what it does to his chest. He wants to hear it again no matter how the hell Clint knows one of the three only friends Bucky has. Help Clint first, and make him laugh if possible. That’s not a bad goal for the day. Everything else will follow, Bucky’s sure of it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
